Love in the time of Corona

El amor en los tiempos del córona

Is Spanish for Love in the time of Corona, if I am correctly not mistaken. 

A title shamelessly borrowed from the legend Marquez, who wrote the commodious novel, Love in the time of cholera, that surpassed every generosity of imagery and vision. 

El amor en los tiempos del córona

Lying in that lonely bed, he mystically borrowed, perhaps stole from the myths and dreams from his yesterhood to decorate the superlative life of a people around, as he had done it so many times in the past. He palavered himself so. 

The nurse nursed, while all others cursed. She was plenipotent with beauty and youth, albeit little child-like. A narcisst and nihilist mind could never get beyond the self. Love thyself. Self reliant,

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preachy, worthy, he had only taught himself to love himself. The nurse often cared and scared him with the buttons yellow, blue, orange, and so; the tablets. Her bottoms were gorgeous too. But he never dared to look at those, for her blouse buttons, fully made of white, sufficed. Her attire usually followed a sartorial route. The only time they smiled was when she gave her a dentrifice. And a head massage at times.

Eventually, as it would usually happen, the soul had become to fragment, and the brains fragile. She too had started to sulk. He was nearly immobile. Leaving the now platform, that bed, a new journey was to start on a stretcher, to the final platform, a coffin. His heartbeats lay still, but her tears remained alive. Her buttons and bottoms will remain a fond memory.

Love in the time of corona.